Chapter 2
Jake
A woman in the least sensible shoes I’d ever seen in this town dragged fancy pieces of matching luggage from corner to corner across Main Street.
I watched in awe as she rolled and carried larger-than-her-frame baggage, dropped them into another pile, and quickly step-step-step-stepped like a twinkle-toed cartoon character back across the street before the crossing signal expired.
It was a tad early for tourists.
Lakeside seemed to function by some cosmic itinerary written in stone centuries ago. Much of life around here was predictable and quiet even during the “busy” summer season.
When I realized she was in fact real, I laughed to myself as she appeared to be moving her many, many bags a few feet at a time all while wearing pointy, high-heeled ankle boots.
I saw her push the button on the stoplight pole for another walk signal before the light changed. Other than my idling truck, the streets were bare. The sidewalks too were empty. It added to the humor.
Maybe I should have offered to help in a show of chivalry. Right then and there. But also, wouldn’t that be kind of misogynistic? I mean, she was accomplishing her goal to move the luggage.
I decided she looked like she had it under control and didn’t need someone like me mansplaining a better approach.
As I walked through the glass door of the Corner Market a few minutes later, however, I nearly collided with a mountain of luggage.
So perhaps it was that I felt guilty for not offering to help her when I saw her struggling out in the street. Or maybe I felt sorry for her after overhearing that she was in a bind. We all knew she was never going to get a cab this time of year.
Whatever the reason, I heard someone ask, “Where you headed?” and realized it was me.
It appeared that I’d forgotten how to act casual, though, and leaned against a very unsteady cardboard display that nearly toppled. I righted the display and myself with quick action and fumbling arms. No one seemed to notice, I hoped.
I wasn’t thinking. I was reacting. That wasn’t me. I don’t fumble or lose composure. I act with reason. Always.
But inside the store when this woman turned to face me, my breath caught. I fumbled. I gulped so aggressively I accidentally swallowed my gum and had to clear my throat.
The lightweight sweater she wore over her sleeveless dress fell down one shoulder, exposing her creamy skin as well as a red impression probably from the duffel bag handles she had hoisted over her shoulder on her mission into the store.
Her wavy blonde hair tossed back and forth over the same shoulder, drawing my gaze up her neck and landing on her eyes just as she tilted her head toward mine.
Betsy continued to keep the interaction going. Thank God, because I was useless. My brain stuttered when my eyes connected with hers.
Even though all I’d asked was the destination of this determined over-packer on stilts, Betsy took the liberty of volunteering me to give her a ride.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. It was one of the things I loved about Betsy.
She got stuff done. There wasn’t a crisis Betsy Kettering couldn’t resolve.
Betsy turned toward me and winked. My cue to step in.
Did I just introduce myself as Dr. Elliot?
Smooth, Jake. Real smooth.
That’s how you greet a patient and their human at the clinic. Not a beautiful woman in the real world.
Eric’s voice from the back of the store drew our attention away from the awkward moment I’d created as he wheeled out a flatbed cart probably used to bring in pallets and boxes of food to sell in the store. It was a little excessive but a good idea. Even if Ali—that was her name—didn’t think so.
She’d clearly had a long morning. The shine was wearing thin around the edges. I knew that look. That tone. I dealt with it every day. A skittish cat. A tightly wound pet parent.
Start gentle. Let them settle. Then take the lead.
As I got into the truck, I cranked the engine.
I overheard her thank Eric by name with a kind smile.
I could tell she was still on edge after what had probably been a long morning.
But gestures like that—kind smiles and a show of appreciation—signaled she was sweet and sincere.
Not the typical hard-edged city girl one might expect.
She yanked open the door with what seemed like a show of confidence. Big mistake. What commenced was a thirty-second physical comedy act that I hoped bruised her ego more than any other part of her as she wrestled with the door.
Once I could tell she wasn’t going to break a limb, it was kind of adorable.
Adorable. It was a thought I couldn’t put away ever since I saw her caravanning her luggage across Main Street.
She battled with gravity and centrifugal force to right herself against the heavy door and launched herself onto the bench seat.
But when she couldn’t quite reach the door handle from the inside to pull it closed, I feared my truck was about to send her back over the edge.
I jumped out and pushed the door closed from the outside. The hinge creaked. The metal clanged. Crisis contained.
“So what’s your cabin number on Lakeside Drive?” I asked, aiming for nonchalant. Easy.
As if a beautiful woman hadn’t just shown up with late spring and stirred something awake after a long, uneventful winter.
“It’s, um, one zero one five,” she replied, saying each individual number as she read from her phone screen.
“Ten fifteen? Really? Then we really are neighbors. I’m ten seventeen,” I said, speaking the numbers as pairs.
“Isn’t that the old Atkins place?” she asked.
“That’s right. I thought you were an out-of-towner.” I smirked and put quotations around that term.
“I am, I guess. But I actually own the cabin. My grandmother left it to me when she passed away. I used to spend time with her here when I was a child. I used to play with the Atkins kids,” she said. “It was a long time ago, though.”
“You’re Libby’s granddaughter?” I asked. Of course. The last name, Bennet, should have tipped me off.
“Yeah. That’s right. Did you know her?” she asked.
“Sort of. I bought the Atkins place about five years ago and fixed it up. I visited your grandmother at Avalon Oaks a few times. I keep up her yard and property for her. She was a sweet lady.”
“You visited her at the memory care facility?”
“Just a few times. Your grandmother was loved in this town. Her dementia was pretty advanced by the time I got to know her, though. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” she said in a whisper and shifted her glance out the window.
I slowly turned onto Lakeside Drive as my truck tossed us back and forth with the momentum. Ali turned to check on her bags in the bed of the truck.
“We’re just about there.”
She nodded. Distracted. “Yeah. Great.”
“I’m sorry if I didn’t recognize you from Libby’s funeral.”
“That’s okay. I, um, I actually didn’t make it to the funeral.” I felt her sadness weigh down her words.
“What brings you to town now?”
We pulled into the driveway.
A beat passed. “Needed to . . . get away,” she said in a distant tone.
I noticed a sentimental smile settle on her face as the house came into full view.
“Well, you picked the perfect time to come, before the rush of tourists, and it’s been a really nice spring. Where you coming from?”
“Chicago.”
“Oh, well, then you know how out of character the weather has been. Everything is blooming early.”
“Yeah. I have noticed, actually.” She jerked her head in my direction, tearing her gaze away from the outside.
“I thought people would be friendlier too.”
“Was someone not friendly to you?”
“Um . . . well . . . the bus driver was a bit grumpy. I didn’t win over any friends on that bus ride. Well, maybe one friend. The woman I sat next to was nice enough. Everyone seemed obsessed with the number of pieces of luggage I have.”
“The driver was Carl. He always gives off the impression he’s grumpy,” I said. “But he’s actually a big softy. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but he had to put his husky down last month. And even Carl was a puddle of emotion and grief.”
As the local vet, I got to know families pretty well through their pets. I was there through every unexplained illness, the routine checkups filled with love, and the hard days when it was time to say goodbye to their furry family members.
It was an important role. One I never took for granted.
“And a little-known secret, Carl’s also the town’s Santa Claus every year at the holiday festival.
You wouldn’t believe how jolly that man becomes once the red velvet comes out.
He’s unrecognizable—and not just because of the costume.
Most of us don’t even realize it’s him under that rabbit fur and the white beard. ”
That drew a genuine smile out of Ali.
“So I guess I should have worn red velvet to win him over, then?” she asked. An image of Ali in a short red velvet Santa suit unexpectedly flashed in my head, and my heart raced a little. I felt my face warm.
“Maybe.” I cleared my throat and my mind. “Really, though, he’s just Carl. Don’t let him scare you away from Lakeside.”
She nodded.
“You mentioned noticing how everything was blooming. Are you into gardening?” she asked.
Thank God. A topic I could focus on without sexualizing anyone.
“Another thing you should know about this town. Everyone’s into gardening. Or at least into wild gardening,” I said.
“Oh yeah. I did know that.” She scrunched her nose. “Or at least I sort of did. My grandmother—Libby—was super passionate about wild landscaping.”
She paused.
“I haven’t thought about that in a really long time.” A small laugh escaped. “It’s really still a thing? Even without her around?”
“She pioneered a movement back then,” I said with a shrug. “And safe to say, you’re about to get reminded a lot. It’s a town-wide commitment these days.”
“You know . . . she taught me some stuff when I was young. I wonder how much of it I’ll remember.”
“Are you a city gardener?” I asked as I put the truck in park.
She gave me a look—half scandalized, half amused.
“God no. These hands haven’t sunk into dirt in a loooong time.” She looked down at her hands. They were well manicured. Thin. Soft.
“What do you do in Chicago?” I was desperate to get to know this woman.
She lifted her head. Ignored my question.
“Thanks for the ride and for helping me with my bags.”
“It’s really not a problem. Happy to help—”
She pushed open the door, launched herself to the ground in record time. The passenger door thundered shut, cutting me off.
I started to unload Ali’s bags while she checked out the front of the house.
“Thank you, um . . . Dr. Elliot. You can just . . . leave my stuff outside. I’ll get it inside on my own.”
“Okay, sure.” I hopped into the bed of the truck and started pushing the bags closer to the tailgate so I could pull them down. Cringing to myself and considering what the hell to say to undo the whole formality of introducing myself as Dr. Elliot.
“Although, it might be easier if I help you bring the bags inside. Since I’m here and all . . . You can just tell me where to put them. It’s not a problem.” I spoke over my shoulder as I maneuvered the bags.
“I was able to get all my errands for the day done early and still don’t have to be back to the clinic for a bit.”
No response.
I looked up to realize I was speaking to no one. Ali wasn’t near the truck.
I glanced toward the front of the house.
The door was still unopened. The yard was quiet. The house undisturbed. The only sound was the humming of early-season pollinators.
“Ali?” I said, confused.
Until “Help!” came from the side of the house in Ali’s voice.